by Debra Webb
When he was gone, Cece locked the door and pressed her forehead against the cool wood. All these years she had dreamed of the police realizing their mistake and helping her to find the truth but that had never happened. Then a stranger seemed prepared to do exactly that.
Except she couldn’t be certain if he really wanted to help her or if he wanted to link her to whatever happened to his friend.
Either way, he had lied to her. What she’d told the sheriff was true. Deacon had probably saved her life and she appreciated what he had done. But he had used her. She had been used enough in this life. She had been lied to far too many times.
It would be better if she cut her losses where he was concerned.
* * *
DEACON WAS ONLY a few miles from Cece’s house when blue lights flashed in his rearview mirror. He scrutinized the truck behind him.
Colt Tanner. The Franklin County sheriff.
Deacon slowed and eased to the side of the road, put his truck in Park and powered down his window. He watched as Tanner climbed out of his own truck, set his hat into place and then strode toward Deacon’s door.
“Sheriff.” He gave the other man a nod. “Was I speeding?”
Deacon doubted the sheriff had pulled him over for the five miles per hour over the posted speed limit he had been going. This was about something else. He wouldn’t need three guesses to hit the right one. Tanner had been making calls. Deacon had gotten a heads-up from one of his colleagues.
“We need to talk, Ross. Can you follow me back to my office?”
Deacon assessed the man. “Any reason we can’t talk right here?”
Tanner glanced up and then down the road. “I guess not. Mind if I join you?”
“Make yourself at home.” Deacon pressed the button to unlock the doors.
The sheriff walked around the back of the truck and climbed into the passenger seat. He sat for a moment before he said anything. Deacon recognized the strategy. He hoped to escalate the tension. No need. Deacon’s tension was already sky-high and it had nothing to do with the man seated across the console from him.
“I don’t think you’ve been completely up-front with me, Mr. Ross.”
“Deacon,” he corrected. “You should call me Deacon.”
“Well, Deacon, I spoke to your supervisor up in Nashville and he seemed to think you might be on a mission down here—one that has nothing to do with purchasing less expensive property or helping out a new friend.”
“You could say my mission here is twofold,” Deacon admitted. “When I first came, it was for a singular purpose, but I realized I liked the area so I decided to buy land.” He was wasting his time. The man knew why he was here, but that didn’t mean Deacon had no choice but to spill his guts.
“I don’t have a problem with a fellow lawman looking for the truth.” Tanner shrugged. “Hell, if I thought a case hadn’t been investigated properly or that stones had been left unturned, I would be all over it. Particularly if that case carried some personal significance for me.”
“Jack Kemp was a good friend,” Deacon said, deciding to play this a different way. “He trained me. There wasn’t a better man in the Bureau. All I want is to know what happened to him.”
“He disappeared around the same time Mason Winters was killed?”
Deacon nodded. “He was here investigating the group that calls themselves Resurrection. They’re vastly different from the usual prepper folks. They’re extremists with fanatical views. Jack was part of a joint task force with the ATF. I can’t go into all the details because I don’t know everything there is to know, but there was speculation that this doomsday prepper group was working with others across the country.”
“Running guns,” Tanner guessed.
“Among other things,” Deacon allowed. “These people live in communities. They go the extra mile not to stand out, to blend in. No one knows who they are. They’re careful and very hard to catch. Their one goal is to ensure the success of their mission.”
“Their mission is?” Tanner asked.
“To be prepared to resurrect mankind when the rest of us destroy ourselves.”
Tanner grunted. “Interesting. Your friend was attempting to infiltrate this group?”
Deacon nodded. “More than two decades ago, Jack lived here for months in hopes of finding a way into the group that had just started in your county. The belief is that he thought the church Mason Winters had started was connected. When the case went cold, Jack was reassigned. Nine years ago, he came back for a follow-up. He was here a few weeks and then he disappeared. I need to know what happened to him.”
“You could have come to me,” Tanner argued. “It’s important to me that the residents of my county are safe. If this Resurrection group represents some threat, I’d like to know.”
“That’s the problem,” Deacon said. “You could be one of them.”
Tanner’s face showed his unhappiness with that comment. “I’m not.”
Deacon held up his hands. “I’m not accusing you, sheriff. I’m merely pointing out the dilemma involved with this kind of investigation.”
“According to your boss,” Tanner countered, “there is no investigation. The one your friend was a part of was closed years ago. Mr. Kemp was declared legally dead last year.”
“There’s no official investigation,” Deacon admitted. He wasn’t going to play games with the sheriff. “But I’m not finished yet.”
After an extended stare down, Tanner nodded. “All right. I’m good with that as long as you keep me informed and don’t do one damned thing that breaks the law.”
Deacon nodded his agreement. “I can live with that.”
“What do you believe happened to your friend?”
“My guess is, he got caught and he’s buried around here somewhere. But he has a wife and a family who need closure. I want to find that for them.”
Tanner considered his answer for a moment. “I got the impression your people don’t want you stirring this particular pot.”
“The joint task force doesn’t exist anymore. The Bureau backed off and turned the investigation over to the ATF. Politics. Someone somewhere wanted to do things a different way and that was that.”
“But you can’t walk away?”
“It took me years to find out where he was assigned and what he had been doing. I still don’t know all the details, but I know he was here. And then he disappeared.”
“But you found him in those courtroom photos of the Winters murder case.”
Deacon confirmed his assessment with a nod, not that the sheriff needed his confirmation. He already knew the answers.
“Like I said, I’ll be happy to work with you, Ross. See if we can figure out what happened to your friend. But you need to leave Cece Winters out of this. She’s been through enough. She doesn’t need you using her. She’s been let down by everyone around her—except maybe her grandmother. She spent nearly nine years in jail and in prison. She came back here looking for the truth. She sees you as some sort of hero. If you can’t be that hero, you need to leave her be.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Deacon promised. He should have already. “Explain myself.”
“Just so you know,” Tanner explained, “I’ve already talked to her. She knows why you’re here.” He reached for the door. “I expect you to handle this properly. You have an obligation to protect and serve the same as I do. When you’re ready, we’ll talk strategy for this investigation of yours. I mean what I say, don’t forget that.”
He got out and walked back to his truck. Deacon waited until he had driven away before he did the same.
At Cece’s driveway, he made the necessary turn. He parked near the house and climbed out. When this thing started, he’d anticipated telling her the truth. He had intended to come in, find what he needed and ensure she paid for the crime if she was
responsible in any way for what happened to Jack. And then he would be gone.
Except nothing had worked out the way he planned. She wasn’t the person he had thought she was.
Cecelia Winters wasn’t a killer.
Like Tanner said, she had been let down by everyone she had counted on and she deserved better than what Deacon had given so far.
She opened the door before he knocked. She stared at him, the hurt in her eyes a punch to the gut.
“Did you have more lies you wanted to tell me?”
He removed his hat. “No. I’ve told you too many already.”
Before he could apologize, she held up her hand. “Don’t. I don’t want to hear anything else you have to say. I appreciate that in some ways you’ve helped me. I truly do. But you came here to use me. I can’t get past that.” She shook her head. “Did you think I killed my father and your friend? What kind of person do you think I am?”
“I didn’t come here to use you or to prove you...” He closed his eyes a moment. “I don’t know. Maybe I did. But I was wrong.”
“Why? Because you got caught? Would you have told me the truth if the sheriff hadn’t told me first?”
“I want the truth, Cece. Just like you. I didn’t come for anything else. Just the truth. I wasn’t expecting things to become personal. But they did, and as sorry as I am for misleading you, I’m not sorry about anything else.”
She looked away. “I wish I could believe you.”
“I can’t make you believe me, but I can urge you to let me help you with this. We’re close. I know it and I think you do, too. Let me help you. You can trust me. You have my word.”
“Your word isn’t worth much, Mr. Ross. I started this alone and I’m pretty sure that’s how it’ll end. I’m not counting on anyone. Not anymore. You would think I’d learned that years ago but I still allowed you to lead me down that path. Don’t expect me to be grateful you feel bad about it now. Goodbye, Deacon.”
She closed the door.
He knocked hard. “Cece, please let me help you.”
She didn’t answer.
He flatted his hands against the slab of wood that stood between them and leaned his face there. “You shouldn’t do this alone.”
“I’ve always been alone.”
The key turned in the lock and he didn’t need X-ray vision to know she had moved away from the door.
He had screwed up and he wasn’t sure he could fix it.
Chapter Thirteen
Cece washed her face, then stared at her reflection in the mirror. How had she allowed Deacon to fool her so thoroughly? Had she not learned anything?
Eight years in a damned prison should have taught her something besides how to be beaten and threatened and terrified.
Look at Levi. She had sincerely believed he was on her side and look what he had done. Even if there were moments when she thought differently—like Deacon saving her from Ricky—everyone she had counted on proved her a fool in the end.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
She turned away from her reflection and went back to the living room. She checked out the window to make sure he was gone.
The yard was empty. The driveway was deserted.
She was alone again.
She shouldn’t have expected anything different, yet she had allowed herself to hope. That kiss...that one damned kiss...shouldn’t have made her dream of the possibility, but it had. She had dared to believe.
Damn it.
In the living room she stared at the stack of papers and photos. She should take the whole pile out back and burn it. She should list the house and walk away. Never look back. Never, ever come back.
Sierra hated her. Marcus hated her.
Who knew what Levi was doing or thinking. Whatever was on his mind, it wasn’t being there for her.
Why waste any more time? She was nearly thirty years old. There was the college fund. She had a chance at a real life.
Except the past would haunt her forever. She had realized this already. Pretending it wasn’t so wouldn’t change a damned thing.
A murder charge did not just go away.
She had to see this through. Either she would do it alone or she would take the sheriff up on his offer. She didn’t really know Colt Tanner but he seemed sincere.
Then again, so had Deacon Ross.
The fact was that she just could not trust her instincts anymore. Apparently, she never could.
The phone rang, the trill echoing through the house. She jumped. If it was Deacon she was hanging up on him.
She picked up the receiver. “Hello.”
“Cece?”
“Levi? Where are you? Are you okay?”
“I... I need you to come to the house. Marcus wants to talk to all of us.”
Levi’s voice sounded strange. Something was very wrong. “Are you all right, Levi?”
“Can...” He cleared his throat. “Can you come?”
“Of course. I’ll be right there. I just need to know that you’re okay.”
When he didn’t say anything else, she said, “Levi? Did you hear me? I’m coming.”
Worried, she started to hang up but shouting stopped her. She pressed the receiver back to her ear.
“Don’t come, Cece! Don’t come! It’s a trap!”
The line went dead.
Fear and fury exploded inside her. Damn Marcus. She’d had enough.
She stormed across the room, grabbed her shotgun and headed for the truck. She wasn’t playing with him anymore.
Outside, she strode to the barn, opened the doors and climbed into the truck. She propped the gun against the seat next to her and took off. She didn’t bother getting out to close the barn doors the way her grandmother had taught her. She didn’t care anymore. Levi was in trouble and she intended to find out what the hell was going on.
The drive to the house where she had grown up only took fifteen minutes but that was fifteen minutes too long. There were no other vehicles in the driveway. No guards strolling around.
Maybe she should have gone to the church.
She got out, reached back in for her shotgun and walked toward the front door. Someone had to be here. If her grandmother’s phone hadn’t been so old she would have had caller ID and maybe she would have known for sure where the call came from. Guess it wouldn’t have mattered since it was probably a cell phone. Everybody had them.
Except her.
She banged on the door. It flew inward. Since no one was standing there she figured it must have been ajar. Listening for the slightest sound, she stepped across the threshold. The house was as silent as a tomb. Goose bumps raised on her flesh.
“Levi?”
His name echoed in the silence.
Cece took a deep breath and moved beyond the entry hall and into the living room. The room was a mess. Books pulled off shelves and slung across the floor. Couch and chair cushions yanked out of place.
What the hell happened here?
Her heart bumped into a faster rhythm. “Sierra?”
No response. Nothing but her voice reverberating in the deafening silence. She moved on to the dining room. Broken dishes that had once been in the china cabinet were scattered over the wood floor. Chairs were upside down and silverware had been tossed out of drawers.
“Marcus?”
She walked through the kitchen that was in the same condition and prepared to take the three steps down to the family room her father had added on when they were kids.
Marcus stood on the other side of the room, one hand resting on the mantel of the fireplace. Sierra sat on the couch. Neither turned to look at Cece.
“Where’s Levi?”
Sierra said nothing. Just sat there and stared as if she were in a coma.
“Marcus,” Cece demanded, �
��where is Levi?”
“He’s gone.”
Still, he didn’t look at her.
“What do you mean he’s gone? He just called me and said I needed to come here.”
“He made a mistake, Cece. The same way you did.” Marcus turned to her finally. He moved toward her and Sierra started to sob.
“What’re you talking about? I know what I did. I stood up to that bastard. What did Levi do?”
“He turned against us. Against our family. The same way you did.”
He kept coming. Cece tightened her grip on the shotgun.
“This family turned against me.” She spat the words at him. “Have you turned on Levi now?”
“Family is all that matters. If we don’t stick together, we’re nothing.”
Cece aimed the shotgun at his chest. “Where is he?”
“You should have stayed gone, Cece. We were fine. We had moved on. But you had to come back and stir it all up again.”
“Stop right there,” she warned. “Where is Levi?”
“He’s gone,” Marcus said again, his dark eyes boring into her like hot coals. “It was the only way to save him.”
“What does that mean?” Rage roared through her. He was just like their father. Heartless and self-centered. Insane.
“But you—you can’t just go. You keep coming back. We can’t have that anymore, Cece. This has to be finished once and for all.”
“You’re just like our father,” she accused. “Evil and full of yourself. You think you’re God. Just like he did. You don’t get to decide who goes and who lives or dies. Did you kill him? To take all the power for yourself? Is that what happened, Marcus? Did you stab our father for all the times he made you feel so small and insignificant?”
“Goodbye, Cece.”
She shook her head and steadied the shotgun. “I’m not going anywhere. Not until you tell me what you’ve done with Levi.”
The blow to her head came from behind her. She pitched to the floor like a rag doll tossed aside. The shotgun landed a few feet in front of her. She saw it lying there. Told herself to reach for it, but her body wouldn’t respond.